I thought for sure she was a boy. I dreamed of boy stuff, that she was a curly headed little guy. I thought for sure these were signs.

They weren’t.

I was 17 weeks pregnant, to the day, when I went to my ultra sound appointment and Kevin told me it was a girl. “Are you sure?” I asked. “See the hamburger there? That’s a girl.” He said.

Boogie has a hamburger.

Rutherford had to work that day so he wasn’t able to go with me to see the hamburger for himself so I called him as soon as I got to the car.

“Guess what honey. It’s a girl!“

“Are you sure?” He was unsure.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I was sure.

“Sometimes they get it wrong. You should go back and ask if they are sure.” He was sure they weren’t sure.

“I asked. They are sure.” And they were sure sure, so I was sure.

“Oh.” He’s was still unsure.

That was right about when the panic set in for the both of us. I was sure I was being punished for be a pissy teenager. I remember what I was like as a teenage girl. It was not pretty. I’m lucky my parents didn’t put me down. Lock me in the cellar (we lived in California where people don’t have cellars, but still..). Send me to a convent. Or other wise rid themselves of me.

The face of evil.

As the days passed and the news sunk in I started to ask people with daughters, how the heck do you do it?

My father, who has 2 daughters and 3 sons (I’m his favorite) said, “Girls are easier…until they start wearing makeup.”

My father-in-law, who has 2 daughter’s and 1 son (strangely, I’m his favorite too..kidding!), told me it was Rutherford who was the difficult one. Boys are more adventurous and fearless and Rutherford was prone to climbing furniture and hurting himself. At 3 years old, this child closed himself in the fridge because he wanted to see the food talking (like on Sesame Street). Can’t make this stuff up, folks.And someone who shall remain nameless (mostly because I can’t really remember who said this but the actual quote is still burning my brain, “With boys you only have one penis to worry about. With girls, it’s 100’s of penis’s you have to worry about.”

Awesome. Sign me up.

Not long after we found out what was headed for us, Rutherford implemented the No Pink rule. Even going so far as to tell me to inform my shower guests that gifts of the pink nature will be frowned upon by the establishment.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that, as far as baby gear companies are concerned, there are only 2 colors to choose from: boy and girl. Really?

Those of you that pay attention and read the last post, you will have noticed that Boogie’s walls are, in fact, pink.

Exactly.

So now there I was, getting fatter and fatter with every passing day. No donut in town is safe. Boxes of Lucky Charms are fleeing the city in fear. And growing along with my waistline is my anxiety.

What if I am Yolie?

For those of you who don’t know, Yolie, is my ‘mother’. Not to be confused with my Mom. The one who put flowers in my hair for church when I was a little girl, taught me how to put on purple eyeshadow and was there when my daughter was born. It is also my Mom who always seems to know what I need to hear and when. You can’t put a price on what it feels like to have your parents tell you that you’ve grown up into someone they are so proud of.

Now I haven’t spoken to Yolie for going on 9 years now. I had to finally say ‘when’ and stopped the hemorrhaging. There is a VERY good reason for this but I will share it with you on a day when I feel I need to repeatedly punch myself in the mouth. Cuz that’s what talking about her is like.

Puts me in a stabby mood. And I’m not in the mood to be stabby today.

Regardless, I still share her blood and unfortunately, some of her traits (as much as I hate to admit it). Because of this, I spent my entire life not wanting a daughter. And by not wanting a daughter, I mean BEGGING the Lord God Almighty to never ever, by any means, bless upon me… a girl child.

Apparently, God didn’t get the email.

I am probably in Gods #spam folder with the online Canadian Pharmacies and the Nigerian millionaire.

My biggest fear in the world is that some day my precious, beautiful child will some day look at me the same way I looked at her.

I just couldn’t live like that.

Then I started to obsess about it. Asking myself questions about how and why we become our parents, for good or bad. I replayed every argument, every ridiculous conversation over and over in my head. Every lie. I needed to know how I could avoid making the same mistakes.

When Boogie was finally here, it wasn’t until it was just her and I alone, in the middle-of-the-night stillness of the house, that we bonded. It was in those quiet moments that I would introduce myself to her and she would lay there, so trusting and comfy, in my arms. It’s then when you wonder how anyone could possibly hurt a child much less, how you could knowingly and purposely hurt your own.

Then one day, as I was driving down the street, it hit me. I am nothing like Yolie.

::happy epiphany dance::

Why?

Because, I could never even fathom doing what she has actually done to her poor children. I could never pit them against each other, or walk away from my baby, or otherwise terrorize. I could never ignore one while doting on another while pretending, yet another, doesn’t exist.

On top of all that, I could never do all this and yet act like the victim, the child, the buddy.

I didn’t need another friend. I needed a mother.

So I guess I’m in the clear. In the clear because that kind of stuff doesn’t even cross my mind as being in the realm of possibility.

See? I can relax now. Nothing alike.

I would, however, have loved to get her button nose or the eyelashes that have now been passed down to my Boogie.

I am thankful every day that I am almost exactly like my Dad (so is Rutherford). But don’t you DARE tell him I said so.

I am silly and corny and talk way too loud. I have a tendency to repeat myself if I think I said something even slightly humorous.

And if I got half Dad’s heart and a quarter of his devotion and acceptance of his children, than I have one lucky kid.

Observe…Before Boogie was born I read all my baby books, cover to cover. (BabyWise is actually highlighted, underlined and earmarked.) I also read the ones for Rutherford, and earmarked the good parts for him too.

Choosing bottles took MONTHS.

Weeks of scanning the Internet, reading reviews, pricing and in person walk-by’s at Babies R Us & BuyBuyBaby, went into buying the umbrella stroller. (Which I then ended up buying at Wal-Mart because they had it cheaper then anywhere else and IN STOCK. Score!)

And that was just a $40 umbrella stroller.

Don’t get me started on the convertible car seat.

I anguished over the digital thermometer.

Do normal people take 2 whole days to decide on a bottle brush? Just me?

See a pattern here?

So lately we found ourselves in need of a new video monitor for the Boogie’s room. Game on…

This monitor is actually a replacement monitor for the one we had purchased in November. I don’t know how it could have happened (yes I do, it was dropped) but it suddenly had the worlds most annoying hum. And not just a low hum, a keep you awake staring at the ceiling, kind of hum. Rutherford pointed that out to me. Thank you for that because until he said something, I hadn’t noticed it and then couldn’t get it out of my head.

Like the little problem solver I am, I took to my Twitter account and called out the manufacturer. To my surprise the contacted my right away, refunded my total purchase price AND promised a replacement free of charge! I am now a huge fan of Safety 1st and can honestly say they have some of the best customer service I have encountered from any large company, as of yet. Kudos.

In the mean time, I needed a new one. You don’t understand, it’s like that old saying: Once you go video, you don’t go back…or whatever.

Anywho…

So back to the drawing board I went with my new mission. Armed with the promise of a $161.00 check from Safety 1st, I started looking at nicer, newer and more upgraded models of video monitors for this time around. And that’s when I saw it….

The BabyTouch Color Video Monitor is the most innovative baby video monitor on the market. It features a revolutionary touch-screen controlled monitor, the first of its kind. Like many of the smart phones, simply touch the screen to control the monitor’s pan, scan, zoom and brightness features. Two other great aspects include a stylish, magnetic docking station for the handheld unit and a wireless, rechargeable battery-powered dock for the camera. Another wonderful feature is the unique talk-back option, giving parents the ability to speak into the handheld monitor and have their voice projected through the camera.

Summer Infant monitors always came highly rated from all the Moms around the Twitter water cooler but the are not cheap so I hesitated to buy one but that doesn’t mean I didn’t covet thy neighbors monitor. I have also been known to casually walk by them on every visit to the store every now and then, you know, for research purposes only.

Here was my chance to finally own the Rolls Royce of baby gear.. the Summer Infant video baby monitor and I was going for it. Oh yeah.

Off to BuyBuyBaby I went to buy buy my monitor. $249.99 later I was on my way home but not before a thorough walk through, you know, just to make sure everything is right where it was last time. (Including the new Munchkin Diaper Pail and First Years bottle drying station, either of which would be a very nice surprise from the other half for the low low price of $29.99 and $14.99, respectively.)

Hold on! Important side note here!!

If you don’t know this already, BuyBuyBaby is owned by BedBath&Beyond. Yup, that’s right! Which means all those 20% coupons you have piled up work at BOTH STORES. Let me give you a minute to let that one sink in…

Okay back to my story…

I then raced home, my head spinning with images of all the fun times my monitor and would soon be having. I ran into the house, a quick “Hey, how are ya?” to the kid and the father and I was tearing into the box with my teeth like a kid on Christmas. A quick scan of the directions (directions are for being read AFTER you fail to figure it out on your own) and I was up and running.

Small camera unit & notice the Ohio State Buckeyes Brutis mobile on the crib. Yeah baby!

Here it is on the wall in Boogie’s room. And here are actual pictures of it’s awesomeness in action.

Great color picture of the play room and WAY too many toys.

Second favorite feature is the “talk back” ability. Think of it like a walkie-talkie. I demonstrated this one this morning by giving Daddy a verbal “high five” on his diapering job. Fun times, people.

If I had to make one little improvement on perfection, it would be to have a temperature reading on the parent unit. Our other monitor had that and it was so helpful when the temp dropped here in the desert. (Her room is in a far corner of the house so it’s hard to tell how hot or cold it is in there.) But this is minor and all of the other features, by far, make up for that one place it’s lacking. The parent unit is also super fast when charging, like 4 minutes to get it 80%, a portable battery powered charging station for the camera which will keep the camera running for 10 hours when not plugged into a wall, AND a/v cables so you can hook up the parent unit to the TV. Genius!

All in all, my favorite baby item, hands down. I will be recommending this one to everyone, including you. Another bonus, @SummerInfant is readily available and willing to chat on Twitter and I am very pro any company that makes themselves accessible to it’s customers.

You can find Summer Infant monitors and all of it’s other amazing and thoughtful products, as well as, where to buy at http://www.summerinfant.com/

Happy stalking!

I was given permission to do this review by Summer Infant PR but I was not compensated in any way in exchange for a good review. I just really think they are awesomesauce. Now go buy their stuff.

Share my nonsense:

Awhile ago, when I first came across the world of mommy bloggers and Twitter moms, my first thought was ‘Yay! Friends! Someone else who shares my pain, my experiences, my brand of diapers!’

In my head were visions of us skipping through the meadow, long blond hair flowing in the breeze, holding hands and singing the theme song to The Backyardigans…

Oh boy was I apparently mistaken. (And not only because I don’t even have blond hair.)

Don’t get me wrong. There are some seriously kick ass Moms (with a capital M) out in the Twittersphere. Those are the cool Moms. The A Group Moms. The ones I can only imagine were Homecoming Queens, and only gained weight in their belly’s when pregnant.

I won’t name names…but I’m looking at you @sdmomfia.

But there is a small group (thankfully) of moms that get on my last nerve.

I’m sure I’m not going to make any friends here by saying this but I already have friends, thankyouverymuch. And it’s my blog, so suck it.

The moms I’m referring to are those judgmental little B’s who troll, not only Twitter, but Facebook too, looking for a chance to tell you what you are doing wrong and why. Like someone out there made them Lord all mighty of the Moms. All knowing and all seeing in the world of child rearing. The be all, end all, of motherhood.

True story:Commented a friendly comment in reply to something a friend had posted on Facebook.

Insert judgmental mom who is not only NOT my friend, but I don’t know this woman. So I most defiantly could not give a crap of her opinion on my parenting style or the fact that I have read and used the BabyWise method of sleep training.

Really?! I mean REALLY?!

Excuse me, who are you again? And your name is…?This woman proceeded to berate me on my lack of love for my Boogie because I have let her cry it out, via the Facebook page of a mutual friend. Huh?

**** Let me just stop right here and clarify something. I DO NOT ignore my child. I have, however, let her cry herself to sleep in order to get her on a sleep schedule starting when she was about 12 days old. The result? I have a happy, healthy, intelligent 10 month old who slept through the night at 7 weeks old. She has a regular sleep schedule, rarely cries and can self soothe better than most adults I know. Does this work for everyone and their child? No. Will I beat you over the head if you go to your child when she cries? No. Why? Because it’s none of my damn business.

Delete.

I played the bigger woman card.

“Um, I do not know you. I don’t need to explain myself to you, whoeveryouare. Please stop talking to me.”

Silence. Ahh… Then there it was. That little red notification bugger. She was at it again.

This time she informs me that she had gone through my photos and noticed that I use a Graco Nautilus car seat for Boogie and wanted to know how old she was because according to manufacture directions, children under the age of 1…..blah blah blah.

I stopped reading.

(Her comment, not the manufacturers directions, I’ve read those…many times. Those of you that know me, know that.)

Note to self: Check privacy settings.

That’s right about when the chick in me that usually takes the high road, took a hike herself, and the snarky little B in me, reared her ugly head.

This woman was MILD, even NICE (okay, not really) compared to some of the other women I’ve met on Twitter. Those women? Vultures. Those women? Breastfeeding, cloth diapering, baby food making, vaginal birthing, treehuging, uber-moms who’s only goal is to make the rest feel bad about our own mommyness.

—> Please know, I do not have anything against doing any of these things for your baby. It is recommended. It is good. It is HARD. You go with your bad self if you can make baby food and wash diapers after birthin’ yo baby…. You. Are. A. Rock. Star.

Some of my favorite Mom’s cloth diaper and make baby food, and they don’t beat me over the head with their Bum Genius. (Looking at you @mamabmy!)

But this is not me.

So do I need to be told multiple times that I must be a terrible mother because I delivered by c-section?

I did not know this but apparently when you deliver vaginally, you release oxytocin, otherwise knows as the love hormone which helps with bonding and maternal instincts.

Because I did not vaginally deliver, I did not give off oxytocin and, therefore, I do not love my Boogie. Am I getting that right?

My new favorite saying: Keep your opinions out of my scar and I’ll keep mine out of your vagina.

Do you see this little face?

I live, breathe and die by those brownish-green eyes. I kiss those cheeks goodnight and miss her until she wakes up in the morning. I watch her sleep on the monitor and CRIED the first time I had to let her cry it out, for her own good. I worry daily about the world I brought her into and what it will be for her after I am gone. Most importantly, I think it would be impossible for me to love ANYTHING more than I love this kid and her father.

So if you think for a second, because I don’t breastfeed, won’t spin my own cotton to make cloth diapers, can’t grow my own vegetable garden for organic baby food or whatever else is new in uber-mommying,.. it means that I don’t love that little face and everything attached to it….think again.

UPDATE:Okay, just to clarify, Twitter & Facebook are not crawling with B’s. 99.9% of the people I have met are awesomesauce. This post is just me and my encounters with the ridiculousness of mommy-on-mommy judgment. I’m tougher than the average cookie but not everyone is. This is for the Moms that are just looking to their peers for advice and conversation and get this crap in return. Can’t we all just get along? Kumbaya anyone?

Share my nonsense:

When I was about 7 years old I met someone who would be in my life to this very day. There’s a lot to be said for that considering I’m 33 now.

I just did the math. That’s almost 27 years. Something must be wrong with math today because that’s can’t be right. Math is obviously broken.

But I digress…

Trudy is this very special person but I call her Dewey, and in all my life I have yet to meet someone else like her.

Dewey and I met on the grade school playground, when she stuck up for me and didn’t even know me. That’s just how she rolls. From that day on I looked up to her, admired her, was jealous of her, wanted to be her and was grateful for her. We made friendship bracelets and wore BFF charms, like any other respectable best friends. Duh.

As a kid I spent more time at her house than mine. Her parents were married and mine were divorced. She also had a cool older sister, a schizo cat named Elvis and a dog named Mitchell who I always called my boyfriend. Her Mom would drive us to Skate Junction and her Dad would make pancakes for our dolls. I still remember her home phone number from when we were kids.

Grade School

If she thought something was cool, well then HELL YEAH it was cool! And she was also one of those people who did every sport and activity like second nature. I was awkward and uncoordinated. She ran, I ran and fell down. She made a base hit, I struck out. She was captain of the dance team, I was only near the front because I was short. But I tried everything and I owe that to her. She got me to do the things I never thought I could. I didn’t always do great but I was still out there doing it and she was out there telling me she knew I could.

Some of my earliest memories are of torturing her dad. Poor Bob. Really, like seriously, POOR BOB. I’m almost positive that to this day Bob probably questions my ability to drive. He also probably wished the Mercedes had child locks (because opening car doors while your moving just to see the interior lights go on, is never recommended but still funny) and that even as very small children that we would recognize that we were going to Disneyland when, in fact, we should have been going to Knott’s. Bob just always reminded me of one of those cartoon Dad’s banging his head against a wall whenever we were around.

Side Note: Dear Bob, I have, in fact, figured out the difference between the clutch, and the brake, and that cars need oil. Also, if it makes you feel any better, I have a daughter now who will probably torture me because that’s how karma works.

Later in high school, there was no shortage of getting in trouble. Drill team kidnappings, Taco Bell parking lots, paper crowns, Australian Beach Club, The Metro in Riverside, the Gia, engine fires (hence the lessen in cars needed oil), boys and everything else that goes along with being that age.

Once we were even driven home from a rave gathering of people outdoors, in the trunk back seat of some girls car because our ride freaked out and ditched us had to leave early. Not really recommended. (And if it’s now 2026 and my daughter is reading this, I’m lying. Good girls don’t go to raves or ride in trunks.) But if it did happen, which it didn’t, it would be totally hilarious.

Dance Team

Graduation 1995

After graduation I went off to San Diego State and she to Long Beach State. New friends, new lives less time for each other. As more time went by I moved out of state. What we realized was that no matter how far or how long between visits, all it takes is a phone call. We could go months without talking and 1 phone call or text and it’s like nothings changed.

We both knew if one needed the other, the other would be there. No matter what it took.

Mexico

About 8 years ago she was going through a particularly trying time in her life and I come home to see her. At one point we snuck away and sat on the porch of her house and I finally told her how much her friendship meant to me all those years. How much I respected and admired her my entire life. How much I would have given anything to be her at times. The last thing I would have ever expected to come out of her mouth, was the next thing that did. Turns out it was ME she respected and admired and wanted to be!

My heart grew a little that day. I’m not sure if she ever knew how much *I* needed to hear that at that time in my life as well. Your 20’s are never easy. I left to go home to Arizona with a renewed sense of self and confidence.

Next month, the day before my 34th birthday, my best friend is getting married and I will be there, standing with her in front of friends and family on the most important day of her life. I am honored.

Not many people are lucky enough to have friendships like this in their life time. The kind of relationships that the others are measured against. But I do, and I am and I know it.

To my best friend: Thank you for sticking up for me that one day so long ago. Thank you for pushing me when I needed to be pushed. Thank you for teaching me how to drive a stick, how to do split leaps, how to play light as a feather stiff as a board, introducing me to my first scary movie, telling me he wasn’t good enough to me, listening to me when I said he wasn’t good enough for you, not getting mad at me when I kicked lightly tapped your 3 year old in the shin because he REALLY deserved it, and for every other moment in my life when we laughed, cried, danced, drank and generally caused a ruckus together. They, and you, are priceless to me. Congratulations on your wedding. Love, Me

I still have this.

P.S. Thank you for letting me pick out my own bridesmaids dress. Nothing worse than an ugly bridesmaids dress.